


The Stain

by ReadyPlayerMic



Category: One Piece
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi, Pancakes, World Nobles get their way, depiction of slavery, reader is a slave
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-14
Updated: 2019-09-14
Packaged: 2020-10-18 05:54:13
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,804
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20634176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ReadyPlayerMic/pseuds/ReadyPlayerMic
Summary: Born and raised a slave to an eccentric World Noble, you know nothing outside of what he wants. Your one solace is your ability to fight has made you his chosen bodyguard.The problem? You wield a sword.This draws the attention of a man intent on defeating all swordsmen to prove he is the best - that includes you.Gender Neutral Reader/Roronoa Zoro





	The Stain

**Author's Note:**

> Yes, I started another. At this point it might be obvious I intend to do most of the Straw-hat crew.

Roronoa Zoro. The Bounty Hunter, the Scourge of the East Blue, the bane of every pirates’ existence. The masses whispered these epithets in awe, but to you, he is just a man, like any other. 

A man devoted to the life of wielding a blade, a swordsman. It would be a lie to say you didn’t feel some sort of quiet respect for him for that. You’d cut down plenty in your time who held a blade in their hands, but they didn’t wield it. The passion wasn’t there, the technique forged from hours upon hours of practice was simply missing. Their stances would be too wide, they’d project an attack with their entire body and their grip on the sword too tight. You knew from the second they came at you their skill level, and you had no doubt in your mind Roronoa could too. 

Did he feel the same bitter disappointment you did when that happened?

The day ticked on. You sighed. You were thinking too much, out of boredom. How long have you been standing here?

You don’t dare move, the chains attached to the shackles on your arms and legs would rattle with even the subtlest step, and if your master awoke not of his freewill, but because of you, you’d be punished. 

Without moving your body, you incline your head to glance down the hall, hoping to see a clock or any kind of time-telling device. 

As if on cue, your stomach gave a loud rumbling tremor. It passed through your entire system, sending insistent pangs into your abdomen, the kind of pain that brought nausea with it as a gift. You feel lightheaded. 

With a jaw clenched tight, you carefully inch yourself backwards until you’re pressed up against the wall. With silent relief, you slump onto it, and let the waves of dizziness run their course. It was only a temporary pain, one you’d become quite familiar to. Your master had a tendency to rise late, and sleep even later. 

You could only hope he’d wake soon. Only then could you eat, and sate this hunger. 

Your life has always been tied to his, and always will be. You aren’t free. You haven’t been for as long as you can remember. You were bought to die for his wishes, and you will live for them and protect them too. Your needs will always come after his.

This is the life that awaited all slaves, and is yours. 

A warm breeze moved through the window, leaving goosebumps in its trail. You were still dressed in your sleeping clothes, and the thin rags pretending to be pyjamas provided no safety from the elements. They couldn’t compare to your master’s opulent sleeping gear, all expensive silks and rich furs. Still, they were better than nothing. 

The sounds of muffled revelry floated through the floorboards. You weren’t in your master’s homeland Mary Geoise now, and there weren’t any of your master’s other slaves to oversee - just you. You weren’t quite sure why he insisted on staying at a local inn.

“I want to experience the life of a commoner!” He’d said when the two of you first set out, but he hadn’t exactly thrust himself into obscurity. He still wore his top-of-the-line, made-by-a-rich-designer outfits and never went without his glass case sealed shut around his head. It was obvious to even the most stupid of people living in the backwaters of the East Blue Sea who he was. 

A Celestial Dragon, a World Noble. Someone you shouldn’t mess with. Not unless you wanted the entire government after your head. 

A soft noise sounded from behind your master’s door. Immediately you straightened up, face betraying none of the excitement that was swirling in your gut. Time to eat, time to eat! You reached for your baldric and slung it over one shoulder, the scabbard connected to it coming to rest in its familiar position on your back. Your master would feel safer if you carried your sword to breakfast. 

You heard a thump, and then a curse. Yes, he was definitely awake! You wait, heartbeat sounding in your ears. Soon. So soon. 

Your master’s door opened with an obnoxious creak, and he stepped into the hallway. Saint Carac, in his 4’11” glory, clad in his pyjamas and glass case yawned, raising his hands high above his head. Sleepy grey eyes fell upon you, and you bob your head in greeting, careful not to come off as too carefree about the gesture. Carac was nicer than some of the other Nobles you’d seen in your years at his side, but even he had limits. 

Being disrespectful was absolutely one of them. 

He smiled. You were in the clear. 

“Mornin’,” he exhaled, “have a good one?” 

You shrugged. As the sole bodyguard/slave of a World Noble, you tended to spend the night awake in unsafe areas to keep an eye on any potential threats. As such, you hadn’t slept last night. 

Saint Carac obviously knew this. 

“I’ve had worse, master.” 

He giggled in a voice higher in pitch than most men his age, then retreated back into his room. He left the door opened, so you peered in. He was searching through his suitcases, pulling out various pieces of clothing, including some of yours. He beckoned you in with a wave. You closed the door behind you. 

He was picking your outfits for the day. It was best to leave him to it. You stood out of his way, content to stand for however long he wished, even if your feet and back ended up protesting. 

He would mutter to himself as he tossed clothes to and fro, some costing more than you did. Once satisfied, he laid his outfit on the bed, and pointed at yours still on the floor. 

You had to admit, his room was nice. It was the innkeeper and his wife’s personal bedroom, they’d practically begged Carac to take it. No prizes for guessing why. The bed looked plush. You wondered how soft it’d feel. Definitely nicer than anything you’d slept on recently. The white sheets, they beckoned. 

Carac spoke your name, and you realised you’d been daydreaming. Shit. He’s frowning at you. “Why aren’t you getting—“ he cut himself off, gaze zeroed in on your shackles. 

“Fucking hell!” He cursed, whirling around to fumble at a drawer. “I keep forgetting the bloody keys.” Safe again. 

It takes him a second to find the set needed. You held out your arms, turning your wrists so your palms are facing up and the keyhole is easier to find. In quick succession he freed your hands and your feet. 

He stepped back. “There we go,” he said, in a tone dripping with satisfaction. You were relieved, the metal warmed by your body heat had been rubbing against you for hours now. You could feel the areas where your skin had given in and tore under the pressure. Carac would handle it once he noticed. He couldn’t bear his property getting damaged. 

“Much better.“ 

You nodded. Your stomach was well and truly in pain by the time the both of you finished getting dressed. With Carac there was no point to asking for privacy, he was the one calling the shots. If he wanted you to strip on the spot, you had to. It took you a little more than he, because you also needed to slip into your armour. 

It wasn’t a full set, you didn’t really need one. A pair of gauntlets and vambraces that were as pointy as they looked, with finger plates you slipped on like a glove, and your breastplate. It moulded tight to your chest, and the strap ran straight under your armpit and stretched across your back to fasten to the other side. It wasn’t difficult to snap into place, just awkward. You always felt like you sweat more with it on. 

By the time you were done Carac had already decided what the pair of you would have for breakfast. Apparently the innkeeper had pleaded with your master to try his famous pancakes. You doubted they were as amazing as he described, but considering how excited Carac was, you knew better than to open your mouth and spoil his mood. 

He was about halfway down the stairs when you finally got your ass into gear and hurried down to join him with your sword strapped to your back. 

“I was thinking,” Carac began as the two of you reached the last step and set off for the dining room. You always kept pace with him, never in front or lagging behind his general tread. He hated feeling like you were physically trying to shield him, even if it was your life’s very purpose, so you were banned from walking any other way. “We haven’t visited the Marine Headquarters yet have we? And they have that swordsman, Rozo or whatever there,” he grinned, eyeing up the blade on your back, “We could see who’s better.” 

You laugh then. As if there was any debate. 

You know you’re better than some bounty hunter from the East Blue, of all seas. 

“Sure, if you want to. Sounds like a fun time.” 

You enter the dining room first, flicking your gaze rapidly around the area. There was approximately seven other people in the place besides you and Carac, with two of them being staff of the inn and the rest, possibly other guests. You doubted any of them were those with anti-noble sentiments, or well, open about it, but you still needed to be on guard. 

You let Carac choose the table, and took a seat in the faux leather armchair with the best view of the rest of the room. Carac allowed you at least this much. You can be selfish when it can be rationalised to him. It’s a little difficult making the chair work with your sword, and eventually you conceded you needed to take it off. 

The chair squeaked under your weight. You heard a choked gasp from across the room, and the thunder of rapid footsteps approaching. Your stomach still rumbled along, the pangs a mere annoyance at this point. 

It would seem that the innkeeper’s wife had noticed your appearance for breakfast. She bustled over, her extremely long blonde hair that went well past her waist trailing behind her like a bridal train.

There was something glamorous about the way she looked at you, for when those shining brown eyes met yours and her lips broke into a smile, your heart skipped a beat. 

Cool it, you told yourself. She’s a married woman. 

Carac had taken to perusing the menu, disinterested in the woman almost breaking out in a sprint to reach your table. “Greetings your Grace! And well, you,” she shifted her body towards you for the briefest of moments before she’s back to facing Carac with her hands clasped around a notepad and pen. “I hope you slept well?”

“Oh, yes, it was just wonderful, wasn’t it?” Carac looked up only to ask you, and you nodded, lowering your eyes. Meeting your master’s gaze without him expressly telling you to was bound to get you punished. 

“Now, uh, Gudrun was it?” Carac snapped his fingers as he tried to recall the woman’s name. He was wrong, but you don’t say a word. 

“Gussalen.” 

“Right, right- well my dear, we’re ever so eager to try those ‘pan-cakes’ your husband was telling us about,” he tossed the word pancake around his mouth like it was a word in a foreign language, over-enunciated and everything. “So could we get two servings of those?”

Her smile was blinding, flashing those oddly well-kept teeth at the both of you. You wondered how she managed to keep up with her dental hygiene all the way here in the backwaters of the sea. “Oh, yes! Of course!” She scribbled away at the notepad. “He’ll be so excited, he’s been looking forward to having you try this since yesterday.”

“So what toppings would you like?”

“Toppings?” Carac’s face was the perfect picture of confusion, all wide-eyed and brow-line furrowed. 

“Uhm, yes, the pancakes come with toppings. Things you drape over the top of the stack. We offer various sauces such as chocolate, honey, maple syrup, things like that. There’s also ice cream, which you can get in vanilla, strawberry, chocolate, cookies and cream. And fruits, slices of strawberry or banana. It’s all there on the menu.” She leant in to point to it on his menu. You fought against the impulse to rise, she was no threat to your master’s safety just yet, and he’d be displeased with you if you caused a scene for no reason. 

Still sitting, although stiffer than before, you watched as Carac giggled again. “Ah, silly me, well then. We’ll have two with the lot, thank you dear,” he closed his menu and presented to her. 

She didn’t take it. Gussalen stared at him as though she couldn’t believe what he’d said. “The lot?” She repeated. 

“Yes, the lot. As in a bit of every single one of those toppings, yes. Do you not use that term around here?” He turned to you with the question. You shrugged. You weren’t from here either, you wouldn’t know. 

She recovered quickly. “No, sorry, we do- I just didn’t expect to hear it from you, sir. That’s fine. So two sets of pancakes with the lot?” The pair of you nod, and she scribbled something else down. “Coming right up,” she smiled at Carac, and for the first time since she’d arrived at the table, genuinely looked at you. Her smile towards Carac had been bright, cheerful, with all of her face involved. Her smile towards you was soft. It barely reached her eyes, and there was something in them you didn’t understand. It was almost sad, the way her eyes trailed over you.

But then she turned and left.

“Sweet woman, that one.” Carac commented, now fiddling with the cutlery. You said nothing but nodded. 

The wait for the pancakes was nothing at all, a little over 10 minutes. You assumed the owner, and maybe Gussalen harassed the chef about it, because the speed in which she stepped back into the room with the food balanced on a tray in her hands and a beaming, customer service ready smile in play was frightening. 

She served Carac first, then you. You were hit immediately with the scent wafting your way, a buttery and fruity mix welcomed by your senses. The dish itself was a mess, the pancakes barely visible beyond the scoops of ice cream, sliced pieces of fruits and liberal douses of syrup, but what little you could see had you licking your lips. It looked good. Better than that, it looked fucking delicious. You were ready to dig in. 

Gussalen wished your master (and you) enjoyed your meals before going to serve other customers. Carac picked up a knife and fork after judging them to be clean enough to be used, and sank them deep into a pancake. You watched as he carefully cut a piece off, pierced it and a slice of strawberry with his fork, and held it out to you. It was soaked with chocolate ice cream and dribbling some red syrup back onto his plate. 

From the way he glanced at you, then at his fork, you understood what he wanted you to do. You leant forward, popping the food into your mouth. 

Oh god. Jesus Christ. Your first thought was sweet. So much sweet. The thick syrup was strawberry-flavoured, and completely dominated everything else. You got a hint of the chocolate from the ice cream, but that was it. The pancake itself was delicious. Soft and fluffy in texture, the gentle buttery taste combined with the syrup to make something you’d gladly finish a plate of. 

Carac kept his eyes on you the entire time you chewed. When you swallowed the remnants of your piece away, his brows raised. How was it? 

“Nothing poisonous, master. It’s fine to eat.” 

The details are a little unsavoury, but at some point in your training you’d learnt what various poisons and toxins someone might slip into food or drink tasted like, what it’d do to the food, and Carac used that skill at any necessary moment. 

Nobody had ever been stupid enough to try just yet, but well. It was still possible. 

With that settled, and Carac satisfied, the two of you dug in. 

You weren’t ashamed by how quickly you finished the plate, shovelling the sickeningly sweet breakfast to your lips like a man possessed. It just tasted so good. Your stomach had begged you to indulge, and with God as your witness, you did. You’d made an effort to keep some semblance of dignity about it so to not upset your master, but damn. 

That had been some good food. You’d be content for the next three hours, at least. 

With a glance at Carac’s plate, you saw he was nowhere close to finishing. You settled further into your seat, and subtly try to scoop up some of the syrupy remnants on your plate with your fork while you wait. At some point Gussalen passed by to talk with Carac some more. You tuned out as soon as you heard the familiar pitch of a customer service voice. It’d be another question about the food, whether he found it good or something. 

You heard them talk for a few minutes, but you didn’t pay attention to their conversation at all. It registered in your ears they were speaking, but you didn’t hear the words they spoke. Then she walked away again, and it went back to the same quiet atmosphere. 

Next came the husband and finally, Carac finished his plate. You watched him sit back, a smile stretching across his oblong of a face. He patted his stomach. 

“That was just amazing wasn’t it?” 

You nodded. 

“Next up, Rozo!” 

You nodded once more, and with a slow goodbye (the innkeeping couple insisted on trying to convince your master to stay at the inn longer but he was insistent) you made your way towards the base Roronoa Zoro was being held in custody at. As usual, the townspeople scrambled at the site of Carac’s silhouette. They fled out of his way, intent on keeping his personal space well and clear. That suited you just fine, it meant they left you alone too. 

They stared, eyes near bulging out of their sockets with a haphazard mash of fear, shock and excitement swirling in their depths. Carac seemed to pay it no mind, off in his own one sided conversation with you about the people, the food, the entertainment here. You on the other hand, kept your eyes glancing around, searching for any possible hints of hostility. 

A good half-hour passed before you reached the hulking building looming over the rest of the coastal town. You almost wished someone did try something with Carac, just to give you something to do. Just walking was so boring. 

Your master however, became more giddy as the pair of you drew closer. You weren’t quite sure why. “You know, I’ve heard some people say Rozo is very attractive,” he held the ‘e’ sound in very, while he wiggled his eyebrows at you. “Maybe I should buy him, hm? Get you a companion?”

You huffed. Like you needed that. Another mouth to feed and clothe and trust, another one to keep your eyes on, yeah you’d really enjoy that. 

“I doubt he’s all that.”

Carac laughed. You reached the fence located around the edge of the base, and with your master inclining his fingers towards one of the doors by the entrance gate, you made your way towards it. A few quick thumps, and a marine came lumbering into view. He had a ever-suffering stare, one that told a story more clear than any words - he hated his job.

Those same eyes swept over your figure, taking in the little shine of your pieces of armour, and the great sword strapped to your back. He lifted an eyebrow, eyes closing in a squint. 

“Whatta you want?” 

“My master is Saint Carac, a World Noble. He wishes to enter this establishment. You will have one minute to open up, or I will force it open.” 

The marine jerked back, eyes bulging out of his head after you leaned to the side, revealing your master to him. Paling, he turned and began to shout, fear clinging tight to his vocal cords. 

“Hey! It’s one of them! A Noble, you dickhead!” He glanced back your way, a wince of a smile directed to you. You tapped at your wrist. 

“We need to open up and take them to the Captain r-right now!” 

There was an answer then he disappeared from view. You waited patiently, counting down the seconds in your head before you cut the gate clean open. 31, 30, 29... Seconds later you heard the whine of metal moving metal, and the gate to the right of you swung open. 

“Thanks,” you send over your shoulder before making your way back to your master. You could still hear the marine’s frantic breathing from here, a good few feet away. Something about the whole encounter spooked him. You didn’t think your words were that intimidating. 

“Well, you made quick work of that.” 

“Of course.”

You could hear the loud, hurried steps of shoes hitting against a dry terrain in the area before the two marines came rushing out from behind their respective doors. They stumbled towards the pair of you before catching a good look at Carac. They then bowed, hats nearly flying off at the speed they ducked down.

“I-It is a honour to have you here, truly.” The one you’d spoken to before was the one who spoke now. 

“Yes, yes, it’s all very exciting isn’t it?” Carac waved his hand. “We’ve come to see the one they call ‘Rozo’.” 

There was a silence, where neither the two marines said a word. 

“Roronoa Zoro,” you mumbled towards Carac. He blinked at you.

“Ah, right. Roronoa Zoro, yes, we’re here for him.” 

The marines blanched from their half-bent position. With their posture so stiff, muscles locked in place just so, you had a feeling something was up with this place. It was more than the typical chaotic and entirely rational fear one experienced when faced with someone of Carac’s position. That was the primal fear of your entire life ending before your eyes, and you being unable say one word about it.This wasn’t the same. 

“Yeah, sure! We’ll take you to see him, he’s just a little further in.” 

There was a sheen to his exposed neck. He was sweating. “May we rise?” 

Carac shrugged, then realised they couldn’t see him move. “Yes, fine.” 

Both men were flushed in the face after they righted themselves, no doubt from fear and the strain of keeping themselves in a deep bow. They wore identical nervous smiles, and gestured for the pair of you to follow. 

You did, eyes zeroing in on their full figures with their attention drawn towards your master. You spied the single flintlock pistols strapped to their sides. Standard military issue, they obviously weren’t talented or important enough to earn a firearm with a bit of personality, that was fine. 

Deflecting their bullets from such close range would be such a pain, but possible. 

The tread of earth didn’t cease, even as you entered the grounds to this marine base. The few patches of grass you could see were little shoots of colour in a brown endless sea. 

“Depressing, isn’t it?” Carac voiced the sentiment you wouldn’t. Yes, this place looked dull. 

Then your master made a noise and you looked up.

There was a large wooden cross in the middle of the grounds, with a man tied fast to it. The ropes weren’t tied as tight as they could’ve been, his arms still had circulation luckily, judging from the lack of discolour around the bindings. 

Whoever he was, he was obviously being punished. You wondered how long he had been out there. From the sight of sweat patches on his shirt, you figured at least a day, most likely more. Well, that wasn’t the harshest punishment you’d ever seen. Hell, staying in one place for a few days was a relief compared to some. 

The man glanced up, drawn to the sound of your approaching footsteps. His gaze was piercing, the shadows falling over his features from his bandanna only adding to detail. His eyes passed over the two marines, landing on your master. You saw them widen and his jaw went a little slack. 

It’s an understandable reaction, you doubt he’s seen someone of your master’s position before in his life.

His eyes fell on you as one of the marines spreads an arm towards him. “Hey, Roronoa. You’ve got visitors.” 

You blinked. This is the swordsman? But he looks so... beaten. Bruises are scattered across the tanned surface of his skin, and there’s blood trailing down his bottom lip to his chin. It’s the darker, more rust colour of dried blood, and when you glance down you see some drops on the ground, well and truly dried. 

Yes, he’s definitely been here for a while. 

“Didn’t think I was allowed any, Dain.” Zoro spoke, a dry rasp to his voice. It sounded like he hasn’t had water for some time. There’s a sign right by him, with words you cannot read carved into the wood. “Won’t this piss off Morgan and his wimp of a son?” 

You tilted your head. Interesting. Were they the ones in charge of this place? The marines began to splutter out a discordant mix of excuses that you wished to listen to, but Carac thought otherwise. He silenced the pair with a single wave of his hand. 

“Untie him. I wish to have him fight my slave, and he can hardly do that all bungled up as he is. Well chop chop,” he added when the marines made no sign of movement. All three of them stared at your master, shock painted clear over their features. Even Zoro, the bandanna did little to hide the whites of his eyes grow larger in size, gaze flickering between yourself and your master. 

The marines once again began to frantically speak, and you heard clearly one phrase, “We can’t-,” and the rest didn’t matter. Carac shook his head, his brown hair swaying with the move. 

“Are you telling me no?” He asked, taking one step closer towards one. Your muscles stiffened, ready to move if need be. “Do you have any idea who I am?”

He looked back at you, brows drawn tight in a frown. 

That look told you all you needed to know; if your master was displeased with Zoro’s current situation, you would get him out of it. Without a word, you grasped your sword’s hilt and drew it. Your feet fell into that familiar stance as your other hand came to rest on your blade’s grip as well. 

You wield a two-handed sword, a large beast of a weapon in your opinion, fully financed and designed by your master. Still, it’s your baby. You’re responsible for its upkeep. You moved forward, a well aimed swing directed toward the ropes. You were only using the very point of your sword, any further and it would cleave through his flesh as well. You’re halfway through your motion when the marines stepped in front of you, blocking Zoro from your sight. You, flustered, halt your swing, muscles pulled taught. Your sword came to a stop before it reached their soft bodies, but barely. 

“Please! We ask for forgiveness, but we must ask you to see the Captain and his son, Helmeppo. They’re the only ones who know where Zoro’s swords are!”

You looked over your shoulder at your master. 

“You want to have him fight at his best don’t you? T-that’s the only way how, your Grace.”

Carac has his arms folded, and he’s staring. It’s not an impressed look. You take a half step backwards, in preparation of what he might make you do next.

“You’re very lucky I’m in a good mood.” He raised a hand and beckoned you. You sheathed your sword. 

“Fine. We’ll meet with your, ‘Captain’,” Carac eventually shrugged. “But don’t ever dare to speak to me like that again.”

The marines vigorously nodded their heads. “Good,” Carac continued. “Then let us get this sorted. See you in a moment, Zoro.” 

The swordsman made a noise that sounded like a grunt. 

You wondered if you’d ever get to fight sometime today. Time would tell, you suppose. 


End file.
